


Buttered Tea

by PurpleProsaist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AI Dungeon Generated, Angst, Family Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neural Net Assisted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27117436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleProsaist/pseuds/PurpleProsaist
Summary: "Sam, how do you take your tea?""I dunno. How d'you take it?"Belladonna loved butter. Troubling dreams are had. Sam and Frodo never stop smiling at each other.The Ring functions as a faulty long-distance intruder alert, Galadriel's telepathy is strong enough to time travel, andirl, this computer is practically sentient and is actively dragging me towards a hobbity doom of utter feels.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written partially by me, and partially by the sandbox roleplay game [AI Dungeon](https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.aidungeon)! (I think there's a newer version out there somewhere, but in any case, this is the exact app used in this fic.) 
> 
> It's a free game that provides tons of hilarious outcomes, but is also highly customizable if you use the right tools. For example, I used it to aid in my daydreaming of queer, pining hobbits. 
> 
> The AI and I often swapped characters with no real rhyme nor reason, and I made copious use of both the "edit" and "redo" features in order to teach it the characters & keep the inexplicable nonsense, as fun as it can be, to a minimum. In the beginning it was trying to tell me that Frodo's dad was alive and Gandalf was 13 years old at the beginning of the quest. 
> 
> I'd say that quantitatively well over half of this is actually my own writing, but I definitely cannot take full credit. Many of the best lines are AI. 
> 
> Still, even the beginning that you do see here is of lesser quality, on both my part and the AI's. I was just easing into my first attempt at a fandom-based game and not entirely sure yet that it would end up working. Honestly, I just used the first generic starter that came to mind. 
> 
> I had no clue things were about to get so _good_. 
> 
> Somehow this turned out having more substance than anything I've ever written unaided. All the while, I still have no clue where this will end up going. 
> 
> As such, be warned that the rating may go up in the future. It is unlikely to go any higher than T+, but possible.

One Autumn morning, Frodo wakes, stretches, and pads down to the kitchen. As he's putting on the kettle for his morning tea, beams of sunrise filter through the window, and already, he can hear Sam out working in the garden. He quietly opens the window, letting in birdsong and the scent of flowers on the breeze, then turns to put together a quick, but sizeable, first breakfast. With bread and jam and cream, and several apple tarts left over from last night's afters, and more all set out on the table, he sets two cups down in front of him. Then he walks back to the window and calls, "Sam?" 

The hobbit looks up from his work and smiles. "Yes, sir? What brings you here?" 

"Why, I'm only waiting on my good friend Samwise. He was supposed to meet me for breakfast today, but if he doesn't appear, I'll have to eat all of this food all by myself," Frodo jests in return. 

"I see. Well, it's been a long time since we've seen each other." 

"It has," Frodo agrees. They saw each other the day before yesterday, but that feels quite long enough. He nods towards the front door. "Won't you join me?" Frodo asks. 

Sam nods. "Of course." He walks into the kitchen with his shears, and sits down across from Frodo. 

Beaming in utter delight, Frodo pours them both tea, then stops. Somehow, he does not yet know how Sam takes his tea, and so decides he must find out now. He sets the cup before Sam, then slides the cream, the sugar, and the honey jar to where they're more accessible. But as Sam reaches towards them, Frodo realizes he's already been staring suspiciously long, and turns his gaze askance. "Sam, how do you take your tea?" 

"I dunno. How d'you take it?" 

"I..." Frodo trails off, looking back up at Sam. He pauses just long enough to stop himself from asking why Sam would say that. "Do you mean to imitate me?" Frodo asks instead. 

Sam shrugs. "Guess so," he answers.

Frodo lets out a sigh, and shifts in his seat. "Did you need anything else?"

"No."

"I'd considered adding some bacon to this," Frodo gestures at the spread, chuckling nervously, "but that would have taken a bit longer, and..." the truth was, Frodo hadn't wanted to delay spending time with Sam at all if he could help it, and maybe he'd felt a little lazy too, "And I'm saying that I could... make you some bacon. If you like."

Sam's face lights up, and he nods eagerly. "Aye! That'd be great, if you'd not be minding, Mr. Frodo."

"I don't mind at all. For you, anything," Frodo grins. His quick trip to the cold cellar does little for the warmth rising in his cheeks. Had he been too obvious in saying that?, he wonders to himself over and over. He shoots Sam another smile before he goes to work at the stove. 

The two sit together in the kitchen for a good half hour before Sam finally rises to take his leave. He extends a hand to help him up, and Frodo accepts it.

He ends up standing very close, but Frodo is so focused on pulling his hand back neither too slow nor too fast, that he forgets to take a step back for several seconds. "That was a lovely breakfast," he says, hoping it doesn't sound like he's just praising his own bacon. "Thank you, Sam," he adds, to make his meaning clear.

Sam smiles, a bit bashfully this time. "I'll be off then, Mr. Frodo. The hedge needs finishing and all."

"Of course," says Frodo, smiling back at him. He reluctantly turns to start gathering up the dishes. 

Sam looks as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself and just turns to leave.

Frodo catches him hesitating. "Come back in the moment you feel hungry again," he says, easily imagining the idle joy of sharing more breakfasts with Sam, or perhaps lunch. "O-or anytime you like, of course." 

Sam smiles. "I'll do that," he says, as he heads to the door.

Frodo watches him go and then returns to work on the dishes. As he picks up the butter dish, he recalls Bilbo once telling him that his mother Belladonna would always put a bit of butter in her tea. Frodo turns the dish in his fingers, as though inspecting it. He suddenly wishes he had told Sam about his aunt's penchant for buttery tea, if for nothing else than to see the look of amusement on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's back soon after with some apples from the orchard, which he sticks in a bowl on the sideboard. He turns to leave and pauses by the table, looking down at the two maps. 

They are maps of Lake-town and the Lonely Mountain, messily sketched by Bilbo himself. He had eventually replaced them with better, more detailed maps traded from the Dwarves. But sometimes when Frodo misses his old cousin, he'll bring these out to look at them. "I'm sure you remember these?" he asks Sam.

Sam flips to the back of the first map. "I do remember these, Mr. Frodo," he says, smiling.

Frodo looks at the back of the map. Here, Bilbo had used the space as scrap paper. "Green!" it reads, providing no further explanation. It'd be a fond memory, if Frodo even knew when it was written. But he does at least remember Sam and himself crowding around Bilbo's chair, and Bilbo gesturing to specific locations as he recounted the details of his adventure.

Sam looks at the next page.

They both study the old maps in silence and remembrance for awhile longer. Then Frodo sighs. He briefly touches Sam's wrist. "Thank you for bringing the apples," he says. 

Sam smiles and nods, then takes his leave.

"Wait," Frodo turns towards Sam again and stammers a bit. This is so ridiculous to bring up now, but he's already started. "Have I ever told you how much Belladonna Took loved butter?" he asks.

Sam's eyes light up at this sudden change of subject. "No, sir, you've never mentioned her."

"Ah," Frodo answers. He can't help his smile when Sam has that look in his eyes. "I never knew her, of course. Bilbo once told me she always stirred butter right into her tea."

"Buttered tea, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo chuckles. There: that little furrow to Sam's brow. That's exactly why he brought it up. It's worth it, even if Frodo's blatantly tripping over his own tongue around Sam these days. "I can't seem to decide whether it should taste delicious or horrendous," he continues, "but I confess, I'm too cowardly to try it."

Sam's brow smooths. "If you're too cowardly, Mr. Frodo, I definitely think you should give it a shot. Mr. Bilbo would want you to live your life however you wanted."

As Frodo starts to stand, he pauses, the sentiment crashing into him. "You're right, of course." He absently chews on a nail before stopping himself and meeting Sam's gaze. His voice goes very soft now, "Sam, are we still talking about tea?"

For the rest of the night, the words 'buttered tea' are never mentioned again.


	3. Chapter 3

The next afternoon, Frodo is heading out the door with a few books tucked under his arm. The sky is a bit overcast, but it doesn't seem it will rain anytime soon, and he has his coat with him.

There is no sign of his gardener, just as there had been none all morning. Humming in both relief and disappointment, Frodo starts towards the Water. He can't remember the last time he went for a walk. He finds this little byway so calming; the sounds of nature, the sight of leaves drifting down from the trees, the smell of earth after a rain...

It's a true wonder that he hadn't heard the rain earlier, but he shakes his head. His mind had been far too busy to notice something as frivolous as a little water. 

Eventually, Frodo comes to a large, shady tree overlooking the Water. The ground beneath it is dry enough, so he stretches out, setting the other books on his coat. 

As he opens one of them, he finds a familiar passage and starts to read. 

In this light, however, he has to squint to see the letters. He could almost recite this story by heart, but the struggle to see it makes him uneasy anyway. His restless mind turns back to yesterday. 

Sam had only reddened and averted his gaze at Frodo's question, so Frodo didn't press the issue. Despite the awkwardness, Sam had stayed well past dinner, and even then seemed reluctant to leave. 

Frodo fishes his pipe and a pouch of pipeweed from his coat. He has just enough for one bowl, and despite himself he finds himself savoring each slow burn.

He suddenly notices that his pipe is beginning to run low. It seems strange: he always seems to have enough. 

Sighing, Frodo sets the book aside. A moment later, his empty pipe as well. Then he rests his head on the tree trunk behind him. He still can't seem to focus on any other thought for too long. 

Maybe he should start keeping a tally of the days now. In any case, he cannot finish reading today. His eyes feel heavy. He just wants to sleep now.

But of course he's tired. During breakfasts, Frodo found that he couldn't even take a sip of tea if there was any trace of butter in his mouth left over from the bite before. But hadn't Sam advised him to "give it a shot"?, he wonders bemusedly to himself as he drifts off. 

He doesn't know how long he sleeps, but it's enough for his dreams to be filled with crowded streets and dark halls. 

A large voice from a distance shakes him awake. "Frodo Baggins!"

"Here!" He calls, and instantly feels a twinge of pain in his chest.

"I need you." The voice says.

"Yes."

But as Frodo blinks, the sky is bright, if still gray. He can see that no one else around. Another one of those odd dreams, and now the unease is gnawing at him again. Feeling inexplicably called back to Bag End, Frodo quickly gathers his things.


	4. Chapter 4

Bag End looks as he left it, if tidied up. The coats are hung up, the books are in their proper places, and there's only one chair pulled out.

"Sam" he breathes, looking about. It's obvious he's been here, and the mere thought of him is so vivid. Frodo turns out of the study then. Sam might be in the kitchen.  
He wanders about, idly picking things up and putting them down. A vase here, a book there. He stops suddenly, staring at the round window seat in the kitchen.

He doesn't expect the way his breath catches just to see him sitting there. There's a smile on his face and a lovely sparkle in his eye, and his nose is in a book. Frodo softly clears his throat before Sam can feel him staring. "Hello, Sam. Fancy seeing you here," he says, smiling as he sees the book.

"Mr. Frodo! It is good to see you as well," Sam says, putting down the book. Then, suddenly, he squints over at the hobbit, his brows furrowing. "Are you... all right?" he asks hesitantly, and takes a step forward.

Frodo freezes. Immediately he thinks how tired he feels. But that must be from his earlier nightmare, and it's no use worrying Sam over nothing. "I'm all right," he answers, giving him a genuine, if sleepy, smile. "I see that you tidied up. That was very sweet of you."

Relief is in Sam's face. "Well," he says, "if it isn't too much trouble, Mr. Frodo, could you do me a favor?"

"It's never too much trouble, Sam. What do you need?"

"Well, I was going to do it myself, but I don't have the heart to throw these away just yet. Could you do it? I'd really value your opinion."

Frodo scrunches his brow. That's a lot of things to address, but he assumes Sam will explain well enough in time. "What are you not throwing away?" he asks to begin with. 

"These." Sam picks up two bowls and a cloth bundle off of the counter. "These are my mam's belongings."

Frodo takes them from him, confused. Sam's mother Bell had died some time ago. "Is there any reason why you would be thinking about throwing them away?" He eyes the cloth bundle curiously. It feels somewhat weighty in his hand. 

"I guess I'm sort of feeling like I need to let them go," Sam answers.

"Let them go?"

Sam nods, his face twisting a bit.

Frodo nods understandingly, "Yet you feel like you're not ready to do that at the same time, is that it?" 

A laugh escapes Sam's lips. "I think I know the feeling," he says. 

"Let's sit down and talk, shall we?"


	5. Chapter 5

Sam takes a place on one of the kitchen benches, and Frodo sits on the opposite side of it, facing him. 

He sets the mysterious bundle on the table beside the bowls. "Is there anything more you'd like to say about it? I'm here to listen," Frodo says softly, what he hopes is soothingly. 

"Aye..." Sam says, "I'd like to talk about your garden."

Frodo tilts his head a bit. 

Sam continues, "I was thinking, giving them bowls a new purpose might do it. I'd be letting them go without getting rid of 'em, you see." 

"Oh," says Frodo, looking at the bowls. They are rather decorative, and fairly large. He could easily imagine some types of plants suiting them well. 

Sam continues, "What about these?" He picks up both and displays them.

"They're beautiful, Sam," Frodo answers honestly. "It's a wonderfully innovative idea, and I believe they'd look splendid in the garden."

Sam grins, "You're too kind, Mr. Frodo."

"No, just kind enough, I think," Frodo jests. "Now. If I may ask, what is this?" he points to the cloth bundle on the table.

Sam sighs, "There's a story to go with them."  
He unrolls the bundle to reveal four whittled figures.

Frodo scoots a bit closer to peer at the figures. They're very artfully crafted, he notes, down to the detailed curls on their feet. "Did these belong to her as well?" 

Sam nods, looking at them fondly.

"Would you want to tell their story, then?" 

"Yes, I believe I would." Sam tells the story of how he found them in the woods near the Green Hills.

They had been visiting family, and Sam just old enough to wander a bit. His mother had been overjoyed to see them again, although she admitted that she had lost them on purpose in the first place. They were made in the likeness of her, her sister, and her parents, as it turned out. 

Frodo gazes at Sam, listening intently. When the tale is over, he speaks, "I'm glad you told me." He wonders to himself why Bell might have purposefully lost such a treasure, but decides against prying. He sets his hand over Sam's and smiles kindly at him. 

"I miss her," Sam says suddenly. 

"Ah," Frodo says, feeling all too clumsy and helpless. "I would bring her back for you if I could." He suddenly longs to offer Sam a hug, but instead just brushes his thumb over Sam's knuckles before awkwardly retracting his hand. "I'll put on some tea, and we might idle awhile and miss her together, if you'd like?" he offers. 

Sam nods eagerly and they sit in silence, watching the flames. After a bit, Sam snuffles and looks up at him, eyes shining. "You love her, don't you?" he asks.

"Yes," Frodo replies. "She was always so kind and warm to me. To everyone around her. I think it'd be impossible not to love her." His hand hesitates mid-air, then he tucks the blanket more securely about Sam's shoulders. "I see a lot of her in you, Samwise." 

Sam laughs a bit, helplessly--and he's blushing, and it feels as if his eyes are going to well up with tears too. He turns away and sniffling, wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

Watching him, Frodo's heart swells. He feels so far out of line to ask, but tries to remind himself that it's exactly what any Hobbit would offer. "Sam?" his voice is meek to his own ears, "Would you like me to hold you?" 

Sam shrugs, but doesn't refuse. Then after a moment of silence and stillness, he turns his head to look up at Frodo expectantly. 

"Sam?" Frodo asks, uncertain. His cheeks feel warm, and he prays that he isn't visibly blushing. Though, if he is, he can't possibly be as red as Sam is right now. 

"I don't know," Sam answers.

"A-all right," Frodo says weakly. "There's no rush decide." It would and should go without saying, shouldn't it? Is he thinking clearly enough to handle this? His heart is thudding. Anything he might say or do now could be a misstep. Still, his Sam is expecting him to make a move. It's time to put that mind at ease. Keep it simple. 

Vowing to stop overcomplicating things, he clears his throat, "What would most be a comfort to you right now?" 

Sam shrugs again, and after a moment says softly, "A nice hug?"

Hugs are fine. Cuddling is fine.

Frodo smiles, nodding almost imperceptibly. He slowly reaches out and wraps his arms around Sam. 

Sam sniffles, leaning back against his chest but looking upward still. After a moment, he sighs and hugs him back. "Thank you, sir," Sam says happily.

"Of course," hums Frodo, glad to have cheered him. Sam is warmth and comfort embodied, and Frodo embraces him all the more carefully for it, keeping himself aware for whenever Sam decides to pull away. 

At length, the hug ends.

And then the moment arrives.

"Sam," he asks gently, "would you like something to drink?"

"A pint of stout, if it's there,"

"I believe I have some, yes." As Frodo stands, he hands his half of the blanket over to Sam.  
Sam pulls it over himself more tightly, snuggling down into the corner. "Thank you, sir. I was getting a bit chilly."

"You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to tell since it was tacked onto the same paragraph, but the actual exchange here was 
> 
> **me:** Anything he might say or do now could be a misstep.  
>  **AI:** Still, his Sam is expecting him to make a move.
> 
> & I'm _dying_ bc AI Dungeon really said "make Frodo step up already >:(" Like, it did that. The sass.


	6. Chapter 6

When he returns, it's with a pint in each hand and another blanket piled up over his shoulders. He sets their ales on the table, and checks the fire. Then, letting Sam have the entirety of the first blanket, Frodo sits beside him and throws the second over both their shoulders so that they sit snug together. 

"Here you are," says Frodo, handing Sam his drink, "I hope you enjoy it." He takes a sip of his own drink, turning to watch the fire.

Sam takes a sip, looking down at his pint. He takes a quiet drink, then sets it down carefully in front of himself. "I don't know how to thank you, sir," he says quietly.

Frodo looks at him. "There's hardly anything to thank me for... But that's... That's sweet, thank you." He bites his lip. How is one supposed to begin to explain to such a cautious hobbit that he deserves every comfort he could wish? 

Sam looks at him for a moment, as if he is about to speak, but then he gives a quiet sigh and turns away.

They sit quietly together in the hearthlight, watching the fire.

Frodo does not recall seeing the Sun set, but indeed the fire is the light that's left now. It illumines Sam's features, soft flickers alighting upon his lashes and hair. "Sam?" he begins quietly. "I am glad you're here. Your company is such a beloved thing to me." 

Sam's head turns slowly, and he looks at him in the dancing light.

Frodo looks back at him. Rather enraptured, he gives him a heartfelt, if nervous, smile. 

Sam smiles back, and bites his lip. He heaves a deep breath through his teeth. After a moment, he asks quietly, "Do you think, sir... that there's any hope?"

Hope?

"Oh, Sam," Frodo's face falls. "Don't you always say that there's always hope?" One of the Gaffer's many adages. "What could make you doubt that, now?" 

Sam stares into his fire for a moment. Then he exhales slowly, and turns to face him.

Frodo waits patiently, his heart aching for him all the while. 

"I... I guess I just wonder if there isn't some sort of afterlife," Sam says quietly.

Frodo is silent for a short moment. Then he looks down sadly, "I can't answer that for you."

Sam's shoulders drop. He draws a deep breath through his teeth. "It's okay," he says, "I'm just a silly hobbit." 

"No," Frodo says suddenly. He takes Sam's hand between both his own. "You are kind, and strong, inquisitive, intuitive hobbit. It's a beautiful question to ask, and I know that it comes from your heart." 

Sam's face brightens, and he smiles.

"Now," Frodo says quietly. "Tell me, how have you been?"

"Ah," Sam sighs. "It's been... I'm okay, sir."

"Are you?"

"Yes," he says.

Frodo nods politely. He releases Sam's hand to reach for another sip of his stout, then cuddles a bit closer as he feels a chill.

Sam continues, "It's just sometimes... I get these little dreams."

"Tell me," Frodo prompts.

Sam pauses.

"If you would like to tell me," Frodo says. "I'd care to know." 

"Well... I'll... nevermind." 

"Did I offend you?"

"Oh no, sir," he stutters. "It's just. It's silly."

"Tell me anyway." 

Sam keeps his eyes on the fire for a moment, then looks up at him. "Well, it's like this," he begins. 

In his dreams, Sam sees a woman in white.

She is a tall Elf woman, at least how he imagines they must look from the illustrations he's seen. In his dream, she, speaking images into his mind somehow, offers Sam everything he could ever wish for. In his dream, he always turns it down. 

Frodo listens mindfully. When Sam is done recounting his dream, Frodo asks, "What is it that she offers you?" 

Sam ducks his head, blushing at the question. 

"Oh. I was only being curious, Sam; there's no need to tell if you don't want to." 

"Well, sir," he begins. "It's a home. A certain kind of... Er... She offers me an image of a life I might have, with you. Here. With a little bit of garden for my own, like. And... and most important is, you're... safe. In the dream, I always feel relief that you'd be safe." 

"Ah," Frodo says.

Sam shifts uncomfortably. "That's all."

"No, Sam. It's not." 

Frodo pauses for a moment.

He briefly closes his eyes, trying to envision the words he must choose so carefully. Then he asks Sam's attention and meets his eyes. "You do have a life here. You have a bit of garden – why, I'd trust the entire garden to your decisions alone if only you'd let me," he chuckles, then becomes serious again. He takes Sam's hands. "I am safe." 

Sam stares at their joined hands, nodding slowly.

It must be something more than that which Sam wants, then. But now Frodo wonders at the cruelty of pointing that out. "Are these dreams very disquieting for you?" he asks, smoothing his thumbs gently over the backs of Sam's hands. 

"Sometimes. Yes," he answers, lifting his eyes to meet Frodo's.

"I know I can't set that right for you," Frodo murmurs sympathetically, "but how is this? All right?" He's tracing slow, intentful patterns now, and briefly readjusts his hands to hold Sam's hands more securely. 

Sam bites his lip nervously, but he nods, barely moving.

Frodo's eyes flit to Sam's lips before he can help it, though he quickly schools his gaze back to Sam's. Thunder rumbles in the distance, he pays it little heed. 

"Do... do you feel safe here with me?" he asks quietly, as if afraid of the answer.

Sam gives a single, slow nod. He seems utterly entranced. 

So does Frodo. For a long time, all he can hear is the crackle of the fire and the pattering of rain over the hill, and all he can see is Sam. He can only feel his own rushing heartbeat. "Perhaps bad dreams won't trouble you tonight, then," he breathes at length.

A long moment stretches between them. Then, Sam's fingers twine with his, and he smiles. 

As the tension eases from his body, Frodo smiles back. He squeezes Sam's hand. "You must be wanting a nice supper now, hmm?" 

"Yes, please," Sam breathes. 

Frodo gets up slowly, and Sam stands with him. "Then I'll get you some chicken soup from the pot on the stove to begin with," says Frodo, hesitating to break their eye contact. 

Sam nibbles his bottom lip nervously, but nods quickly. He releases Frodo's hand.

"Is there any particular thing you would like?" asks Frodo. 

"Er... no, sir."

"All right then, my friend." He pats Sam's shoulder, and turns towards the stove. 

The soup had been for lunch, and it seemed that Sam had turned the stove on at some point, for it was still somewhat warm even now. He stirs it, and pours it into two bowls. He hands one to Sam, then turns back and sets to work on the rest of supper.


	7. Chapter 7

Gathering what foodstuffs and dishes he can reach here, Frodo is deep in thought and giddy. He almost giggles aloud, and pauses to compose himself, his hand moving to hide his grin even though his back is turned to Sam.

There's something rather freeing about being here, about doing this for Sam. Often his friend would be fussing over him in a somewhat similar manner. But for now... Sam seems all too content to be fussed over. It's an acknowledgment, Frodo realizes, of something deeper than what's spoken between them. It's a sweetness beyond words. 

"I can't take it anymore," Sam whimpers, and collapses on the bench. Is he crying?

"Sam?" Frodo whirls about, his worry instant, and their supper forgotten. He steps to the bench and sits before him. "What's troubling you, my dear?"

Sam's face is streaked with tears and his nose run. Yet he grins through the tears at his friend. "Hurts my heart... it does," he gasps between sobs. 

It'd do no good to ask while Sam is still blubbering, so although he's aching to know what, Frodo simply leans forward and looks into his face with worry writ upon his brow. He gingerly strokes Sam's arm, as though to warm him a bit. 

"Please... I... please tell me what's hurting your heart," he whispers as Sam seems to calm somewhat. 

Sam bites his lip, hiccuping. 

Frodo starts to wipe the tears away, Sam's cheek hot beneath his fingertips.

"You're my best friend in the world..." Tears obscure Sam's vision again, but he rolls his eyes back and bats them away. "I... just got scared..."

"Of what?"

"Oh," Sam babbles. "Oh, if I told you... But I can't take it no more, not one bit, I..." Frustration flares in the pit of Sam's belly. 

"Sam. Please. You're scaring me. Have I done something wrong?"

He bites his lip, frowning and closing his eyes. Then, he slowly opens them again. He shakes his head, "N-nay, Mr. Frodo. It's only that," he gives a resigned sigh, "I don't know what you're meanin' here. You... It's like you're looking at me with your whole heart in your eyes, and, and... Oh, even that's too much for me to go saying. 'Tis not my place to assume..."

"No, Sam," Frodo says, pulling his hand back. He primly folds together his trembling fingers and stares down at them. "It is your place to assume. I am looking at you that way. With my whole heart... I've hurt you very much, haven't I?"

Sam's frown deepens. "Well, I'm still here, ain't I?"

"Yes, you are."

"And you're courting me?" Sam says in a rush.

Frodo hides his face in his hands for a moment, but he cannot leave him unanswered for long. "Sam," he begins very slowly, "I hope you'll understand that I have felt it was rather not my place to make such an assumption of you. Yet now it seems the chief harm I've done to you has been in being unclear with you." He looks up into Sam's eyes, bracing himself for whatever retribution he may deserve, "You should know. I'm becoming enamored by you." 

Sam's face changes immediately, from one of pain to one of joy. He lets out a shout, as if he's waited lifetimes to hear such news. "Oh, Mr. Frodo! I love you too!" He laughs a bit with glee. 

"What?"

"You heard me. I love you back!" 

Frodo gives something between a laugh and a sob, "Sam! Oh." Speechless, he reaches out and touches his cheek, still questioning and yet certain. Sam is the most expressive hobbit he knows, and so familiar to him as well, that the happiness upon his face is unmistakable. "I had a feeling. I didn't know whether to trust in myself."

"I know. I musta been more obvious than aught," smiles Sam.

Frodo shakes his head, and they embrace.

Sam squeezes Frodo tightly, and Frodo momentarily drowns in it, nuzzling into his hair. 

He's lighter than air, his joy running over, and Sam's heart racing so near his own. 

When the embrace ends, he sets him back, just a bit. "Sam?" he asks softly, "Would you want me to? Court you, that is." 

Again, another laugh. "Oh, aye! That I would indeed!" 

"Well, then. Yes, Samwise Gamgee. I am courting you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sam's face changes immediately, from one of pain to one of joy. He lets out a shout, as if he's waited lifetimes to hear such news. 'Oh, Mr. Frodo! I love you too!' He laughs a bit with glee." <\- 100% unedited AI. 
> 
> ;_;


	8. Chapter 8

Sam grins from ear-to-ear, grabbing him once more. He sets his face against the side of Frodo's head, kissing him there.

At the touch of his lips, Frodo cannot help but to hum his delight. The feeling surges through his chest as a slight, giddy tremor. 

There's so much to be talked about and to be done now that the impossible has come true, and none of it done too hastily. Not least of all is ensuring that when this dearest hobbit goes to sleep, it's with a full stomach. 

For how, however, Frodo's arms come up around Sam's back, and he lingers in the moment, letting the tenderness Sam's showing him warm his heart. After a moment, he slowly lets his arms fall. And as he does so, he leans back and peers into his face once more. 

Sam's eyes are shining in the firelight. His bottom lip looks reddened and luscious, well-kissed and well-kissable. Of course, it must only appear that way because Sam's been worrying at it all night. And there's still a bit of snot right under his nose. 

Unable to stop grinning, Frodo pats his pockets in search of a handkerchief, and finds none. 

Oh, he doesn't care! He holds his wrist out to Sam, offering the cuff of his own sleeve. "Here, my dear. You have, some, ah..." Frodo gestures to his nose, suddenly anxious that he might embarrass Sam. He takes in a deep breath, and lets it out. "Some snot on your face. Here. I could find you a handkerchief if you'd prefer, but I truly don't mind."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Frodo," Sam says, wiping his nose and smiling. 

Frodo lays a hand on Sam's cheek. He decides he really must ask him soon to call him Frodo. But right now he couldn't bear to take the slightest risk of embarrassing him. Right now, gentle non-words might do perfectly. Sam had the right idea, as he so often does. Frodo cradles Sam's face in both hands and presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. Sam chuckles; he seems relieved. 

Frodo moves near his temple and whispers, "I love you." He kisses Sam's head. 

"I love you," Sam's voice trembles, and his cheek quivers. It's a very small thing, but it's enough to move Frodo's heart.

Slowly now, he tells himself as he leans down and touches his forehead to Sam's. Frodo gazes into his eyes, marvelling at their warmth. "Sam... Sam, my dear... I don't quite know what to say so I'll just say it again. I love you."

They stare into each other for a moment. 

"I'd love to make you a nice, fulfilling supper now," Frodo softly suggests, running his fingers through Sam's hair. Being with Sam is like a quiet place in his heart. It's only when he's with him. 

"That would be lovely, Mr. Frodo." Sam smiles. 

With a smile in return and a peck to Sam's cheek, Frodo stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this were a normal fic, I'd be scrutinizing this chapter about how it mentions Frodo's heart three entire times. 
> 
> But you know what? Since the AI came up with the latter two, I just couldn't bring myself to edit them out in any way.


	9. Chapter 9

Frodo's grateful to settle into the rhythm of cooking. It gives him a moment to catch up with his own thoughts. He quietly sighs his relief that he hadn't kissed Sam on the lips yet, not then. It simply wasn't the right timing, not after he'd been that clumsy. (And there's really no need to drag Sam into his old grudge against Esmeralda and her obsession with immaculately kept clothing, no matter how impatient Sam's lips might make him feel.) 

Soon the table is set, and Frodo sits across from Sam, flutters running along his spine. Just meeting his eyes, the side of his head seems to tingle, a bit before and above his ear, exactly where Sam's lips had touched. "I hope you find this to your liking," Frodo says, trying to mask his nerves by reaching for the bread and topping a slice with a generous helping of ham. 

Sam smiles, his eyes flickering over the cutlery. "I feel like we've done this before... Do you remember the first time Mr. Bilbo invited me to stay through a storm? We had lamb," he says.

A slow grin forms on Frodo's face as he nods, the memory settling as warmly in his belly as the roasted mushrooms do now. 

"Then we had apple pie. And after that, we had singing in the parlor. Then we had the stories in the library..."

Frodo closes his eyes as he chews, listening to Sam's recount of that far-off night. Then, forcing his drowsy eyes open again, he reaches across the table and sets his hand over his. 

Sam smiles, squeezing it briefly. "Then we had the laughter in the fields. Then we had the songs in the woods. Then we had the dancing under the trees."

Frodo feels his cheeks warm. Sam is no longer describing the same night, but different occasions over all the years between. Why, he almost makes it sound as if they'd been courting each other all along. 

"Then we had the kissing by the lake," Sam finishes in a quiet voice.

Frodo's eyes fly wide. They had never kissed by the lake. He envisions it now. "That... I believe that is the most beautiful thing I've ever imagined." He strokes Sam's thumb with his own, "Is it something you want?" 

Sam bites his lip, the corners of his eyes crinkling the way they do when he's about to cry tears of joy.

Frodo stares, struck by the wild thought that he'd rather like to nibble at that lip himself. "I keep thinking about kissing you," he admits quietly. 

Sam's eyes are dark. They're dark like the undersides of trees at night. "I... I don't know what to say," he finally replies, "I... I wanted to kiss you so badly ever since the day we first met.

"Sam!" Frodo's eyes gleam at him, "Oh, we were fauntlings!" 

"Aye, and I wanted to kiss you. Only a peck, and on the cheek at that, mind you. My Gaffer said it were improper." 

"Oh, that's just wonderful," Frodo sputters, "Just wonderful. I've been wanting to kiss you for the longest time, but I... I'd never thought..."

Sam chuckles, his face red. Slowly, he brings Frodo's hand to his lips and kisses the knuckle. 

Frodo feels his legs go weak. Then the touch is over, and their hands return to the center of the table, and he still feels weak. It's quite silly of both of them, he thinks, to keep holding on like this, but he can't bear to let go just yet. 

They each finish their supper one-handed, and pink-cheeked and smiling. 

"I best be getting to bed," Sam yawns, "It's a long day tomorrow."

"Yes," agrees Frodo, "You should get some rest. I'll see that the guest room is ready for you, all right?" He finally lets go of Sam's hand. 

"Aye, all right," he says, though he looks disappointed for a moment.

It's the same room Sam always stays in during such storms, large but cozy. Both he and Frodo have agreed that Bilbo's room is still, well, Bilbo's room. 

Heat flares through Frodo at the thought of inviting Sam to his own room, even just to cuddle, but it's a mere thought for now.

After the washing up is done, he provides Sam with the extra blankets they'd used earlier, as well as one more just in case. Then he lingers in the doorway. "You know where to find me if you need anything else." He swallows his nerves. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Mister Frodo," Sam stands there gazing at him.

Frodo gives in; he touches his lips to Sam's. It's just a quick peck, but he feels the other hobbit's lips turn up into a smile against his.

They blink at each other. Then all too soon, Frodo's turning, and floating down the hallway, where he throws himself onto his bed and restlessly giggles into the pillow like a moony tween.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, when Sam wakes up, he finds that the Sun is already shining through the window. He sits up with a groan and stretches. For a moment he just sits there, basking in the Sun's rays, soaking in the comfort of his familiar surroundings.

But there's no call for extra blankets, and no call for extra sunlight, when the memory of the night before hits. Warmth spreads through him. Frodo is courting him. They are courting each other. And they had kissed. 

He should be worried about waking so late. But he isn't worried. He's set only on finding Frodo. He hops out of bed and picks up his breeches from off the floor. Throwing them on as quick as he can manage, he heads out into the hall. 

He blushes at the empty kitchen, hastily continuing his search. Had he truly been so bold? To have confessed that fantasy right to his face! And Frodo had simply accepted it, so gracefully, and so genuinely... Just like him. 

Sam recalls Frodo's cheeks had been just as rosy, his eyes just as bright. They had been so bright. 

He finds him in the study, his eyes closed now, and his hand unconsciously clutching a wrinkled envelope to his chest. 

Sam stands quietly for a moment, watching him breathe. Then he slowly walks closer, as if approaching a wild creature, to see the envelope's contents. Instead he sees the wax; it is sealed up. 

He wrenches his gaze away from the thing, pushing down a sense of unease. 

A couple of curls had tumbled over Frodo's eye at some point in his rest. Leaning over, Sam reaches out and brushes them aside with fingers that seem steadier than they feel. They are so close together now, he can feel the heat of Frodo's body. His heart beats rapidly. "You shouldn't be up, if you're still this sleepy," he chides softly so as not to wake him.

He lets out a gasp. The curls are not quite dry. They had been wet. 

Wet with tears. 

"Oh, my dearie..." he murmurs. His face warms for it, but it had come as natural as any exhale. Frodo is asleep, besides. 

Then he isn't. Blinking and clasping his envelope closer, Frodo looks up at Sam. "Did you need something?" he asks, his face pained with obvious sleep.

Sam's throat clicks. It's dry, like his mouth has become.

Frodo sits up suddenly, folding the envelope and tucking it away into some unseen pocket. "Mm," he says rubbing his eyes, "Is it... Oh, the Sun has risen already, hasn't she? Where have my manners gotten to now? Good morning, Sam." 

"I... I was just comin' to find you," Sam says, finding his voice at last.

Frodo looks at him again, simply watches his face for a lingering moment. Then he gives Sam a warm smile that is somehow at once so happy and so utterly sad. "I thought you might," he says.

Here it comes, Sam thinks. The talk that he's been fearing for years. 

"Well, I shan't keep you long," says Frodo. "Your family must be wondering where you went." 

As Frodo shifts, Sam hears the crinkle of paper. His face burns with great shame and great love, but most of all a creeping fear. Far worse than having this talk is the possibility of never having it. 

"I just wanted to thank you," Frodo says. "For looking out for me, and for being there, whenever I need you." He smiles again, but the smile does not reach his eyes.

"Frodo," Sam says, his voice thick. Tears begin to obscure his vision, but he boldly meets Frodo's eye all the same, "Thank you for letting me look out for you." 

Frodo nods. "You have done a good job, Sam," he says. "I could see that Bilbo would have wanted you to take care of me. Thank you for..."

Sam takes Frodo's hands; the sudden distance had become unbearable. "Blast what Mr. Bilbo wants! Be-begging your pardon, but _I_ want to take care of you. And weren't it Mr. Bilbo who left without so much as a goodbye? I love him, and I know the both of you love each other, but he left you heartbroken. I saw it, sir." 

Despite himself, he wonders what Bilbo might think if he could see them now. 

"Sam," croaks a miserable, breathless voice. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

"I... Aye," Sam stumbles, feeling cowardly and too tall. He kneels then, still holding both of Frodo's hands. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. I've said too much, and I upset you. I-i... I'm just worried over naught." 

"What do you mean, Sam?"

"Mr. Bilbo is gone, sir. I mean no disrespect to you, but Mr. Bilbo's gone. And he won't be back," he babbles, unable to arrive at the point.

"I don't believe he's dead..." Frodo squirms, looking unhappily at Sam. 

"No, not dead," says Sam, "Just... gone. Left. Oh..." this was the opposite of what he wanted to do. Whatever point this is becoming, it's unfathomably rude. He only wishes to beg Frodo not to do the same thing and leave him behind, but he can't say that outright.

"Sam!"

Sam stares at the floor, squeezing Frodo's hands. "It's nothing, Mr. Frodo. Not aught to do with me."

Frodo stands, pulling Sam up with him. Meeting his eyes, Sam finds no anger, only pain and concern. "No," Frodo says gently. "I know the two of you were close. It really hurt you when he left, didn't it?" 

"It weren't the fact that he left, sir," Sam says, "But the way he did it."

"I know. He didn't say goodbye. That was what hurt."

Sam lets go to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I love you, Mr. Frodo. Please, don't leave me here, too. Stay with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those last three lines of dialogue (Frodo & Sam both)? AI. This freaking bot. Just ruining me. I myself was not thinking to have Sam actually get to the point juuust yet but. It's too perfect. QAQ


	11. Chapter 11

Frodo looks back to Sam for a long moment, his eyes glistening. Wordlessly, he gathers Sam into his arms. 

Sam squeezes him as though he'll never let go, hiding his face against his shoulder. 

"Sam, look at me," he says. 

Slowly, Sam raises his gaze to meet his eyes.

"I don't have any plan to leave." It's carefully worded, but true. "Is this what's been upsetting you so?"

Sam nods.

"Then I'll stay."

Sam still holds his breath. It had almost been too easy. He'd been certain Frodo was about to discover the Conspiracy. 

"Sam, why are you crying?"

"I... I'm just happy, sir. Happy that you're here to stay."

He pulls him in for another warm hug.

Clutching Frodo close, Sam bends his head to press a kiss against his shoulder, right against the soft fabric of his shirt. It's bold, he knows this, but it feels natural enough all the same. 

"Sam, stop it," says a voice behind him.

Sam jerks away, turning to find Pippin standing by the doorway.

"Pippin!" exclaims Frodo, pulling away from Sam. "You're here early." Sam doesn't think he's ever seen Frodo scowl at Pippin so grimly. "And you let yourself in." 

Pippin fishes in his pocket for the lockpick, then shrugs. "I found the door open," he says defensively.

"You-you're still here early," Frodo says again. He crosses his arms, looking at his cousin expectantly, "And I'm sure you were only jesting with Sam just now." 

"Oh, that!" Pippin says, waving his hand dismissively, "Of course. By all means, Sam, continue feeling my cousin." He just stands there, smirking at them. 

Sam stammers, looking at Pippin, then Frodo, then back again. 

"Peregrin," says Frodo. 

"All right! All right!" Pippin says. "I didn't mean any harm by it. I told Sam to stop because..." his eyes suddenly brighten, "well, because I'm here now! I didn't want to embarrass you, by walking in while you two didn't realize you had company." 

"I—" 

"Don't Sam, don't," Pippin says. "You were saying how you wished you had a cousin. Well, here I am!"

Sam lets out an awkward laugh that seems to squeak in his ears, "I have cousins, Mr. Pippin." 

Pippin shrugs again, padding past them to plop onto Frodo's chair. 

Frodo turns to Sam, worrying at a thumb nail. "I can handle this," he says. "Let me get you something to take down to your family. Can we... discuss things later?" 

Over Frodo's shoulder, Pippin catches Sam's eye and makes several unreadable gesticulations. 

Sam hesitates, then nods.

"Very well," Frodo says. 

Pippin hops up from the chair, and walks over to wrap an arm around Sam's shoulders as they all head out of the room.

Everything seems to be moving so quickly. There's a whirlwind of whispered instructions and hasty baking. Pippin tells Sam again to meet him at the Green Dragon, while Frodo, eyeing his cousin suspiciously, just tells Sam to watch out for Pippin's fingers. (They are as likely to help with the baking as they are to steal a taste.) 

Soon, Sam is setting off down to Number 3, carrying a basket full of warm scones. His cheek is still warm as well, where Frodo had snuck a soft kiss when Pippin's back was turned. 

Sam is only a few feet from the gate when he looks over his shoulder. Gazing up at Bag End, his heart flutters, and he's nearly breathless. So much has changed since yesterday. The sky, and everything, almost feels unreal now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about this is starting to feel like a Shire soap opera to me. In a good way? Possibly. In a bad way? Probably. 
> 
> Is the game still fun? Yeah.


	12. Chapter 12

Inside Number 3, the Gaffer's dozing before the fire. Sam slips past and to the kitchen soundlessly. He's only just set down the scones when he hears a voice behind him.

"You've come back." It's the Gaffer. He crosses the room and takes the basket from Sam, seeming quite surprised to find it full of scones.

"From Mister Frodo and Master Pip— Peregrin. They send their regards," Sam explains hurriedly. "Did I wake you, Da'?"

"I'm weary, but not so bad as all that," the Gaffer answers, his brow creased.

Sam nods, trying to school his smile to politeness. One can never tell whether Gaffer Gamgee is truly asleep or just idle - and he detests being accused of taking unplanned naps.

Daisy's head pokes around the doorframe. "Sam!" she says, "There you are!" Sam freezes a moment, taken aback. Is she angry? Then, she smiles, and his fears disappear. She rushes into his arms for a giant hug. "I missed you," she says. "But Mari didn't," she steps back and peers into the basket, quickly nabbing a scone. "She's gone off to the Cotton's without you!"

Sam dithers a bit. "Ah, I... am sorry. The storm caught me up at Bag End, you see." They've probably guessed as much, and it doesn't quite explain why he's gotten in this late. He's gone red just beginning to wonder what he could possibly say if they question it.

The Gaffer just nods and grunts his approval. He sets down the basket and carries his share back into the main room with him. But Daisy answers Sam's silence in kind.

He doesn't like the sparkle in her eye. It feels too knowing, yet surely she couldn't know.

"Now, what are you smiling like _that_ for?" she snorts.

He realizes the ache in his cheeks too late. Oh, he wants to shout it for all to hear! But he'll have to bite his tongue until he can talk with Frodo again. _Courting, courting, courting,_ seems to be the beat of his heart in his ears. He shrugs at his sister, turning and pretending to inspect the scones.

"You don't trust Mr. Frodo's baking?" she asks before taking a generous bite.

"Nay, 'tisn't that," Sam answers, plucking a scone for himself, "Just picking out the best one before anyone else claims it."

She smiles. "I suppose that's all right. I miss our talks while Da' was away."

Sam smiles back, "I do too." Daisy is the only hobbit he'd ever told of his feelings for Frodo. The Gaffer's trip had left plenty of freedom to chatter openly, and Daisy's far less of a gossip than Marigold, after all. "I might tell you, later..." he says in a hushed tone, "I might not."

She winks. He blows a raspberry in return, and they both laugh. For a moment, they eat their between-breakfast snack in silence. Then Daisy says, "I reckon you ought to let Mari have her headstart this time. She seemed to jump at the chance to be there earlier than you."

"To be fair, she's been there before," Sam points out.

"Aye, that she has," Daisy snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She winks. He blows a raspberry in return, and they both laugh._
> 
> Is this in character? Would hobbits even use the word raspberry in this context?? Idec. AI Dungeon!! That is so wholesome!!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're enjoying as much as I am! 💜 
> 
> Now it's time for me to pull a Bilbo and ask. So which lines do u think were the Dúnadan's?


End file.
